Vacation really was 'day at the the beach'

Sunday

Aug 26, 2012 at 3:15 AM

I have finally learned a critical lesson about vacation — if you are lucky enough to have one, you should actually try to enjoy it.

If I am completely honest, I must admit that for the past five years, I have not allowed myself to enjoy time off. The newspaper business has been struggling, and that's putting it mildly. So, it is far more difficult to completely unplug from the office, especially when my Smartphone has the office email flowing in.

Adding to an already heavy load, about five and half years ago my husband, Dan, and I embarked on an arduous journey when we adopted five children. We love them all dearly, but it makes vacationing at home nearly impossible. Staying home is necessary for financial reasons, but if, like me, you are afflicted with the need for some small degree of cleanliness and order, staying home on vacation isn't doable. While I am at work, I don't see all the dirt and disorder that naturally piles up with so many kids and all of their friends running through the house. I don't try to fix it, because I know I can't.

But, when I'm on "vacation" (and I use the quote marks deliberately), I see a block of time that I can spend trying to right all the wrongs, banish the filth and restore order to our little house. And that means ripping apart closets, scouring floors, going through the kids' closets to get rid of worn-out clothes and sanitizing the kitchen.

Add back-to-school shopping to the to-do list and suddenly, an entire two-week vacation has drifted away with very little actual vacationing.

It looked like I was headed for the non-vacation again this year when my time off started badly on Aug. 4. I woke up on the first day of vacation with a flu of some sort — a terrible head cold and stomachache. So I was stuck on the couch in my dirty house for several days of recovery watching the Olympics. Surprisingly, despite the disorder and lack of overall cleanliness, it wasn't half bad to loll around drinking fruit juice and tea. I kind of liked it.

When I was feeling better, I began puttering around the house exploring the closets I would rip apart and inspecting the dust bunnies I would most certainly attack.

But the kids talked me into going for a late afternoon swim in Milton instead. We dove into the water from a bridge that was about 15 feet high. I'm sure it was against the law, but it felt so good — scary and thrilling at the same time. We did it over and over until we were hungry. Then we ordered pizzas at a little place downtown and ate hot, cheesy slices on a picnic table by the dam.

I was so exhilarated after the Milton trip, I needed little convincing when Dan suggested we go to York Beach the next day. Dan and I bought fluorescent orange beach chairs at Wal-Mart for $15 — half price! The water was so warm, you could walk right in without flinching.

Our two youngest boys, Jeff, 13, and Jarid, 11, each invited a friend, so there were no fights and no cries of "I'm bored!" to interrupt my busy agenda which included drinking several diet Cokes, eating a delicious Italian sandwich and occasionally drooling a little as I nodded off in my new neon orange beach chair. I did not give the closets or the dust bunnies even a passing thought.

We went to the beach two more times during our "vacation" with each visit producing the same magical effect — relaxation. The kids did nothing special. They rode boogie boards and buried each other in the sand.

We also took Jarid miniature golfing and I even managed to work in some back-to-school shopping as a family outing of sorts, taking Jeff and Jake, 17, to the Nike outlet store in Tilton. Instead of dragging myself up there alone, it was fun.

The last day of vacation, we went to York Beach again and even Jake came along. I took pictures of the kids riding the waves. Jarid and I went searching for crabs and shells and he was thrilled to find a tiny sea urchin. We must have walked 4 or 5 miles up and down the beach just looking for treasures.

By the end of that last day, I looked like a refugee from Cuba who had been adrift in an inflatable raft for weeks. My hair was bleached out and my skin was brown and weathered. Dan and I compared old age spots on our hands, which he laughingly dubbed "rot dots."

And when we got home that night, the house was still standing — dust bunnies and disorderly closets virtually undisturbed.

After five years, I was finally on vacation (no quote marks needed).

Mary Pat Rowland is the managing editor of Foster's and can be reached at mprowland@fosters.com.